My husband's poetry

Category: childhood

  • Leave a window open

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , , , ,

    When clouds and thunder pulled curtains over the sun, momma would read scriptures written in the sky. She have us throw open the southwest windows, because if the pressure could somehow equalize and if the house had enough fresh air to recite prayers and if the walls held no fear of dying, the house would…

  • The ‘AND’ of social awkwardness

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    do you remember playing hide & seek and no one could find you and you fell asleep in your hiding place because you didn’t want to lose and because everyone would have a new reason to hide from you and then you realize everyone is gone and maybe no one tried to find you or…

  • Flint spark

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    I have indulged myself, bought all those things forbidden by my youth or lack of means. Watching rain fall from my porch I realized I never bought that shiny Ronson lighter they kept behind glass so adolescent wannabe cool kids wouldn’t steal from Schnaible’s Drugs. I don’t smoke and have no need of fire, but…

  • The dance

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    When I was young I had no fear. I dove off bridges into the flooded Wabash, turned off head lights and raced away into the night on acid, hitchhiked across America, stood toe to toe with a cop and a billie club and won. I took my beating from a squad of his buddies in…

  • Seven questions

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    When did you stop looking up to find shapes in the clouds? When did you stop imagining heaven peeking through as light showers? When did you stop seeing who could swing highest in the backyard swing? When did you stop talking for hours with friends about your dreams? When did you stop calling in requests…

  • Up early

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    by

    cfblack
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    4 am, up early, I have things to do before I drive a friend to breakfast, help him get in an out of his wheelchair so he may see old friends, visit old haunts and see the waitresses he used to flirt with and who flirted back. I wish I could do more; I wish…

  • Voices

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When I was a child my conscience would talk in my father’s voice I didn’t recognize self-hate as my own Now I argue with the voices, take ownership and try to change 4-15-25

  • Locked knees

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When our father died Masonic members of the Scottish Rite came and performed final rites at his viewing. They marched to and fro in their regalia, spoke sacred vows before his open casket. The next morning, before his last ride, his preacher preached a sermon. A military detail came to the gravesite, performed a twenty-one…

  • The morning chex-press

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    I remember mornings before school Eating Chex Cereal – rice, corn or wheat Milk with three teaspoons of sugar (four, if mom’s not looking) My sisters around the table Reading The Morning Chex-Press Good news only on the back of a cereal box I would construct a three flavored fort around my bowl Until mom…

  • Laundry day

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    because I hated folding clothes growing up, I don’t everything is hung on a hanger except my underwear and socks those I throw in a basket in the closet all my dark socks are the same and I’m not an underwear model so who cares about wrinkles if they fit 4-4-25